


Empiricus

by havetaoque



Series: Spideypool stories [11]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Beds, Cupid - Freeform, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Psyche - Freeform, body heat, probably angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2019-01-04 17:24:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12173409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havetaoque/pseuds/havetaoque
Summary: After Aunt May's death, Peter withdraws from the world and seems to exist on nothing but memories and rare snatches of sleep. It's autumn, and everything around him is dying too. He's running on empty after weeks of nightmares, but everything changes after the night he wakes up from a particularly bad dream and there is someone in his bed, holding him.The strangest thing is -- Peter trusts him, even though he's never seen the man's face or heard his voice in the dark. The nightmares stop, and Peter feels something besides emptiness for the first time since the funeral.And now it's become a bit of a thing. A thing Peter isn't sure he can survive without.





	Empiricus

“Holy places are dark places. It is life and strength, not knowledge and words, that we get in them.  
Holy wisdom is not clear and thin like water, but thick and dark like blood.”  
\-- C. S. Lewis,  _Till We Have Faces_

 

:i:

 

Peter plucked a leaf from his hair and stared at it, tilting it side to side. He rolled the stem between his thumb and forefinger, watched the yellow and red splotches blur together until the leaf looked almost orange, and then the stem snapped and the rest of the leaf fluttered to the cold kitchen tiles. The tea kettle began to whistle.

Peter left the leaf on the floor and took the kettle off the burner. He poured boiling water over a cup of noodles. Some of the water splashed out of the little cup onto his hand. It burned.

Peter stirred the noodles around, waiting for them to soften. Usually he would add some chicken to the ramen, but there weren’t any leftovers from Sunday dinner with Aunt May anymore, and going to the store seemed like too much…to do.

The apartment was navigable by varying degrees of shadow and deep shadow. Peter took his food into the bedroom. He made a nest in his bed and sat there, cup of noodles in hand. They were still a bit stiff and he’d forgotten a fork.

The shadows deepened until the room was plunged into complete darkness. There weren’t any windows in his bedroom, but that suited both his need for secrecy and his mood. Peter could no longer see the cup before him, but he began to drink the broth anyway, crunching slightly when he got to a bit of noodle that hadn’t soaked long enough.

He set aside the empty cup, laid down, and stared into the darkness.

It looked the same whether or not he kept his eyes open, so what was the difference? He’d only have nightmares anyway. Not terrifying ones, but the kind that were too real and left him in anguish when he woke.

Maybe the man would return tonight. Peter pulled the blankets tighter around himself, against the cold, wishing for the warmth of his mysterious bedpartner. It had happened only twice before, but since then, Peter found himself craving that warmth constantly, even forgoing a jacket because the contrast in temperature would be all the more comforting.

Those two nights were the only dreamless sleep he had had after the funeral, the only times he felt warm and safe and loved. And he didn’t even know the man. Harry would scold him for being so reckless. Peter couldn’t even say how the man had gotten into his apartment. Didn’t know his name, his face, his voice. He was just there one night, when Peter woke from a dream, choking on tears. He held Peter in his arms, drew him tight against his broad chest, and wrapped a large hand around the back of his neck, soothing him. Peter had gone boneless immediately and sunk into the hold.

No spider sense warning, nothing. Peter fell asleep and woke the next day feeling refreshed for the first time in weeks.

He was sure it had been a strange dream, but the stranger returned.

Now, lying in the cold bed, Peter wondered if he would be alone again tonight. The last few nights alone had been torture, waiting and hoping and falling into exhausted, fitful sleep alone.

Peter stared hard at the space where his night table should be and reached for his phone to check the time.

“Please don’t,” a voice said behind him. Peter stilled and retracted his hand. The man had never spoken before, but Peter knew it was him.

“No lights,” the man said softly. Peter nodded, hair rustling against the pillow. He felt the bed dip beside him and then the man’s arms were around him. Warmth flooded Peter’s limbs, and he pressed closer, twining his legs around the man’s awkwardly. The man chuckled, a low rumbling sound that sent shivers through Peter, and slid his leg over Peter’s as he spooned him from behind.

“Why can’t I see you?” Peter asked.

The arms around Peter tightened for a moment.

“Because I don’t want you to.”

Peter placed his hand on the man’s arm, running it slowly over the thin fabric of the sleeve, feeling the firm muscles beneath. “What should I call you, then?”

“Call me whatever you want. It doesn’t matter. I can be anyone.”

“I want you to be you,” Peter whispered.

“I don’t want to be me,” the man said after a long while.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> [update: June 4, 2018] -- I stumbled upon this beautiful inktober fanart for Empiricus [here](https://amazing-spiderling.tumblr.com/image/166033690960) by amazing-spiderling on tumblr. Check it out! ([OP](https://amazing-spiderling.tumblr.com/post/166033690960/inktober-day-4-empiricus-by-havetaoque-no))


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